This past Sunday I woke up to an apartment that was 88 degrees. Inside. It was hotter in my apartment than it was outside. And this was after they installed the new AC units. I wasn't home most of Sunday and my leasing company's office isn't open on Sunday, so I waited until Monday to call and complain. Apparently my apartment is not the only one with this issue, and apparently my leasing company doesn't care enough to check out who they hire, because the dude that installed mine and about three other units (not Ed) wasn't certified or something. AWESOME! So Anthea and I have had the front and back doors open for most of the time we've been home since this weekend.
I really wouldn't care that much about how hot it is if I could just hang out naked in my apartment, but I can't. There have been random dudes in and out of my apartment every day this week. And I am just not that open. So, I've been dealing with the heat, and the random dudes.
Monday we were told that we should go ahead and clean out all the cabinets because they were going to be replaced on Tuesday as well as all the appliances in the kitchen. Then we got told that we were also going to have everything replaced in our bathroom the same day. At first, I was excited about this because it meant that I was going to be rid of all these dudes sooner.
While I was cleaning out the cabinet under my kitchen sink, I found a dead mouse. This is the second dead mouse I have found in my apartment this month and the third mouse overall this month. This is not cool. I mean, I already have to deal with roaches. I don't need mice.
Aside: I do think that mice are cute, and they have been my favorite animal since I was a toddler and got a Fischer-Price stuffed animal Christmas mouse every year.
So, I put the mouse in a container and saved it. Tuesday, all the construction workers came into my apartment and sawed and drilled and generally made a mess, and after class I took the mouse down to the leasing office.
Me: I would like to speak with (the owner's of the leasing company who happen to live two blocks from me).
Bitchy Receptionist (who used to get her hair done at my salon): They aren't here.
Me: Yes, they are. Their car is parked outside. They drive that Lincoln SUV.
BR: That's none of your business.
Me: Well, I know they're here. If they aren't available, fine, but don't lie to me.
BR: They are unavailable.
Me: Well, I would like a maintenance request/complaint form.
(She brings me one)
Me: Can you make sure that they get this? (I pass her the container)
BR: Sure, what is it...Oh, what a cute, poor little fellow...
Me: You must not live in one of their properties.
BR: That is also none of your business.
Me: You wouldn't think it was cute if it was the third one you'd found in your apartment in a month.
When I got home, I pulled up right as a leasing agent and an interested couple were parting ways. I waited until the leasing agent was out of hearing range and word vomited all over that couple. I told them everything negative that I have experienced in the last year of living here. I'm pretty sure I talked them out of leasing with my company, at least I hope so. I wish I had been so lucky as to have someone tell me not to rent with them last year.
When I got inside I saw that they were done with the bathroom and kitchen, but nothing was really different. I mean, yeah, there were new things, but it isn't impacting my life in a positive way. This whole thing has been a headache. A huge, fucking headache - a migraine. My bathroom now has new everything, but it's exactly the same as the old stuff - still a white toilet, but one with a plastic seat instead of the heavier kind; still a pedestal sink; still a claw-foot tub, but this one has been re-varnished. The kitchen has a new fridge but it's still a 3/4 sized one and there wasn't anything wrong with the old one. We have a new stove, but instead of a drawer on the bottom of it, we have a broiler - so there's storage space lost. And the cabinets are new, but aren't as deep as the old ones, and they didn't replace the small cabinet/counter that used to be on the other side of our fridge, so where we used to have a place to store baking sheets, set our mixer and toaster, and had a drawer for utensils - we don't. So now I have to figure out where to put this stuff. I haven't tried the dish washer yet, the old one didn't work as well as I would have liked it to, and I've gotten used to hand washing dishes, so I probably won't use the new dish washer.
Do you have a headache? Because I do. That wasn't a metaphor. I really do have a headache.
Today they started working on our porch. And our specific part of the porch has had a huge hole over it since December. I have complained about it repeatedly since then and it has slowly grown larger. It started as three small holes last summer and finally the whole thing just fell through Sunday. So now I have strange dudes hanging out tearing down asbestos and lead infested paint and plaster - so I can't open my porch door. And to my delight, after I got home from a meeting today and had settled into my couch and computer when one of the panes of my porch door breaks. One of the workmen had bumped into it with a 2x4. I go out and ask about them fixing it. One, who did not do the breaking tells me that he'll do it within the hour.
He comes in and is picking out pieces of glass and stripping paint off pieces of wood and constantly pulling his shirt down because his fly is down. I pretended not to notice. Anyway, so we're talking and he's fixing my door and we're discussing the type of people that live in my building now versus when I moved in. AND apparently there are not only strippers above me, but also across the hall and a prostitute in #11! Apparently the prostitute was very unhappy with strange men coming in and out of her apartment...so she gave them half off.
They guy fixing my door said that he found this out from another worker who took her up on the deal! AGHHHHHHHHHHHH! Twenty-five dollars. TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS! That's all she charged! I'm already hated by everyone in my building because I'm that bitch who asks them to be quiet at two in the morning on weekdays, so I was really considering asking her if it was true. I mean, I'm really curious. I want to know how she got to the point in her life where she will fuck the Mexican day-laborers for $25. Seriously? If you're going to sell yourself, don't be so cheap. And fuck businessmen, and charge them hundreds of dollars, if not thousands. Now, I don't have any experience in the sex trade, but I wouldn't fuck someone so cheaply. I would hang out in yuppie bars, find a really drunk one, go home with him, take all his cash and credit cards and be on my way - you know, take total advantage of the John. Or hotel bars, or something. I mean, hasn't she ever seen Secret Diary of a Call Girl?
(If you're Mormon, you probably shouldn't watch this, it's cause to speak with your bishop and go through the steps of repentance.)
Twenty. Five. Dollars. You charge more than $25 for that.
I don't care if it's not true, it's still the most pathetic thing I've ever heard.
I mean, damn, I thought people paid more than that for head.
August cannot come fast enough.